Of Kleenex and Vulcans
by Scholar's Callous
Summary: <html><head></head>Uhura is ill.  Fluff, with the potential for plot.</html>
1. Chapter 1

_Summary: Uhura has a cold. Fluff, with the potential for a plot maybe. Probably not._

_Disclaimers: I am not a doctor, although this was written while I was sick, so I can vouch for the symptoms. Also, I do not own Star Trek (sigh). _

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><p>Despite all of the advances modern medicine had made, there was still no cure for the common cold. Uhura decided she would send a long memo to Starfleet Medical alerting them to this tragic state of affairs. They'd cured cancer, they could regrow organs, and by now, most life-threatening conditions had been solved. Surely they could devote a little time to the human rhinovirus. With a small moan, she sank back against her pillows. Pounding head, itchy swollen eyes, body aches, clogged nose… this was going to be <em>such<em> fun.

She'd woken up with an intense headache, and went to sickbay just before Alpha shift in search of some relief. Instead, one of McCoy's underlings gave her an antihistamine, and sternly confined her to quarters until further notice.

In some ways she was relieved- a translator with a migraine and plugged ears is a liability on the bridge. The pile of paperwork waiting for her tomorrow would be horrendous, but at least she wouldn't mishear something and start a war. And later, if the fog surrounding her head cleared, she could do some work from bed. Sighing, she turned off her comm unit, dimmed the lights, and prepared to wallow in her sick day.

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><p>Worry is a human emotion, and therefore Spock did not experience a slight twist in his stomach when Lt. A'dyr sat in Nyota's place. It was logical to assume Nyota was incapacitated, and therefore he did not question her absence.<p>

After a quick glance in Spock's direction, however, Captain Kirk did. "Lieutenant, where's Uhura?"

A'dyr wrinkled his nose in the manner his species used to indicate sympathy. "Sssickbay hasss put her on leave, Captain."

Now Kirk frowned. "Nothing too serious, I hope?"

A'dyr ducked his head apologetically. "I wasss not told to expect a long absssence, but I do not know the nature of her illnesssss."

Worry is a human emotion. Vulcans do not worry. Lieutenant A'dyr was a competent officer; the bridge would function acceptably without Uhura's presence. Spock turned to his work.

The captain had smiled and said something welcoming to A'dyr before proceeding over to the science station. "All systems operating at standard, captain," Spock reported.

Kirk ignored the statement and addressed his first officer's non-expression. "I'm sure she's fine."

"That is a logical assumption. Dr. McCoy would have alerted you if her condition was life-threatening."

Kirk closed his eyes and prayed for strength. "If it was bad, he would tell you too, Spock. A, um, next-of-kin thing. So she's probably fine."

"Lieutenant Uhura and I are not related, and therefore your conclusion that I would be involved with the next of-"

Kirk held up a hand to stem the tide. "Look, when the lunch breaks start, you can go early. I'm not hungry today. Take as long as you need. Alright?"

Spock's fingers stilled on his console. "Thank you, captain" he said quietly.

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><p>More to come. Reviews appreciated!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: First of all, my deepest apologies. I only have sporatic access to the Internet now that school's out. I promise you I will finish this, but updates will be scattered until August when I get back. I'm so, so sorry! I hate it when people take forever to update... and now I'm doing it to you. I feel horrible. Sadly, I must leave you hanging again, until my next meeting with the web. There is more, but I have to nitpick a bit. Don't give up... but I can't move very fast.__ Again. _

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><p>Uhura's morning rapidly developed a pattern. She took ten minutes to fall asleep, woke up five minutes later coughing, and then tried to fall asleep again. For variety's sake, she sneezed every fourth or fifth interval.<p>

There was also a question of position. Lying flat meant she couldn't breathe. Propping up her head on pillows let her breathe, but hurt her neck. Lying sideways alleviated the neck pain, but then she could only breathe out of a single nostril, as all the mucus rushed to one side or another.

She ached. She was cold. She was hot. She was cold. Groaning, she wrapped a blanket around herself and shuffled to the bathroom for a drink of water. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she groaned again. Bed-head, a swollen nose, and red eyes created what Spock would call a fascinating picture.

Spock. This time what came out of her mouth resembled a whimper. She hadn't told him she'd be gone. Hadn't even commed him. He'd be quietly not-freaking-out-because-that-is-illogical all day, and the end of his shift would see him bee-lining for her door.

With that in mind, she set a new goal for herself: be better, or at least _look_ better, by the end of Alpha, to avoid a scene with a not-anxious Vulcan.

"Drugs," she mumbled. "I need major, major drugs." Grabbing the second of six hypos the medic had supplied her with, she jabbed herself in the arm and stumbled back to bed.

The passage of time remains consistent whether one "watches the clock" or not, so Spock remained focused on his duties, mechanically completing one report after another. Science lab four requisition forms: approved and sent to the quartermaster. Ensign Warren's project proposal: denied until he could better articulate the benefits of pursuing such a line of research, especially when a similar experiment had been done by Dr. H. Ghnanin in 2156. Accident report of minor explosion in lab two, no injuries: read and signed. Recommended disciplinary action for crewmember asleep during said explosion: submitted to the captain for approval. Confirmation of recalibration, all instruments, in lab two: read and signed.

At precisely eleven hundred hours, Spock set down his work and looked at Jim.

The captain jerked a thumb at the turbolift. "Mr. Spock, get out of here. I believe you're due for a lunch break." With a nod in acknowledgement, Spock quickly closed his remaining documents. Kirk grinned; was rushing logical? He wasn't about to ask. "Tell Uhura I hope she feels better."

Not even attempting to deny where he was going, Spock rose. "I shall deliver your message, captain."

Hiding smiles, the bridge crew watched him cross the floor and disappear behind softly swooshing doors. "Poor Uhura," Sulu mused. "If something's really wrong with her, heaven help the science labs."

"Yes, but she's in for some trouble too," Chekov added. "Meester Spock is wery…"

"Overprotective?" Sulu supplied.

"Caring," the navigator decided.

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><p><em>Review if you're not totally disgusted. Actually, review even if you are disgusted. Feedback is wonderful, and I work in a cookie shop! (No, seriously. I do. Best job ever!)<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not, alas, own Star Trek, or make money off it._

_Warnings: Mild language from a certain grumpy doctor..._

_A/N: I'm back! And I have a good Internet source again, so I might update more than usual. (Might!) Enjoy_

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><p>Spock arrived at Sickbay approximately 3.24 minutes after leaving the bridge. Rapidly scanning the patients he failed to detect Uhura, and so headed directly for McCoy's open-door office. The doctor had a large stack of pads in front of him, and seemed to be fully concentrating on them. "Doctor?" he queried.<p>

Jumping in his seat, McCoy scattered his pads all over the floor. "Spock! Why are you sneaking up like a green-blooded vampire?" Ignoring the opportunity for a verbal dispute, Spock stood impassively and "let Bones get it out of his system" as Jim called it. Reaching the end of his tirade about the same time he had all the pads restacked, the doctor finally growled, "What do you want anyway?"

"I have come to discover the location of Lieutenant Uhura."

"Why're you asking me? I've been in here all damn day with these damned-"

"Sickbay put her on medical leave," Spock said urgently. "Logic implies that she is here."

McCoy blinked. "She's not here. And I didn't see her." Striding out of his office, he pounced on the first minion he found. "Chapel!" he barked. "Why is Uhura on medical leave? Where is she? And why the hell wasn't I informed?"

Nurse Chapel continued her own paperwork without so much as twitching an eyelid. "She came in here before your shift. She has a bad cold, so we gave her something to alleviate the symptoms and sent her to bed in her quarters. I imagine her visit summary is on your desk."

McCoy scowled, remembering the pile of records he'd yet to go through. "No fever? No fluid in the lungs?" he demanded.

"Just a simple cold," Chapel confirmed. "She'll be over it in a few days."

"Probably picked it up on shore leave," the doctor grumbled. "I'll have to put her under quarantine, or the whole ship'll get it."

"We already did, sir. It's in the report."

Chapel's efficiency earned her a death-glare. "Fine." McCoy whirled back to Spock. "There you go. In her quarters, with a cold. Anything else?"

Spock inclined his head. "I presume the lieutenant won't be held in strict isolation?"

McCoy growled. "You've got green blood; you can visit her. But-" he added, holding up a warning finger, "she needs rest. Got it?"

"Yes, doctor, I fully comprehend."

"Have her drink fluids, and call me if she has a fever over 39.4*. And get out of my sickbay."

Spock obeyed at a slightly faster rate than usual.

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><p>(*) A little under 102 degrees Fahrenheit. (A science vessel would probably be on the metric system.)<p>

_Also, reviews make me ridiculously happy! All comments accepted and loved! (I'll give you a cookie! *smiles hopefully*_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine._

_A/N: Bad news: School and life has been really depressing lately. Good news: That makes me want to write. Result: New chapter (well, I call them chapters)! In the interest of posting this in a timely manner, I've not tinkered with it as much as I normally do. I am also without a beta... So, if you see mistakes, let me know! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far; you make me smile._

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><p>Uhura was in an auditorium in New York, the seats covered in red velvet, and the walls in gold paint. Before her, a fifty piece orchestra coaxed some of the most beautiful music she had ever heard out of antique instruments. She felt tears in her eyes as the sound slowly crescendoed, spiraling higher and higher, taking her with it until she felt weightless, nearly flying, and-<p>

A communicator rang. Annoyed, Uhura glared in a circle, but no one looked particularly cowed, so she sat back to enjoy the show.

It rang again.

And again.

Enraged, Uhura whipped her head around, trying to locate the source. When that failed to produce anything, she stood and began an aisle-by-aisle search, weeping in earnest now. The concert was so exquisite, and some idiot was _ruining_ it because they lacked the _brain_-_cell_ needed to turn off their-

"Nyota! Nyota, wake up." Cold hands gently jostled her, and she slowly opened her eyes to a frowning Vulcan.

"Spock?" she croaked. A few tears continued to leak down her face.

"Yes, Nyota. You are crying. Are you in pain?" he asked urgently.

"'S just a cold. My eyes are watering." Each syllable scrapped up her throat in a raw procession.

Spock still hadn't released her shoulders. "Do you know where you are?"

Sniffing, she felt a huge wad of mucus in her sinuses, holding ground like a Klingon on a suicide mission. "My quarters. Spock-"

"What is the stardate?"

"Stardate?" She shook her head as if to clear it. Fat chance. "Spock, what are you doing here?"

"I am attempting to ascertain your level of lucidity." Spock's face tensed in the Vulcan equivalent of I-am-about-to-have-a-panic-attack. To Uhura's knowledge, the expression had surfaced five or six times before, usually when Kirk threw himself in front of guns.

She groaned. "I'm fine. What are you doing in my room?"

"You failed to answer your door." The grip on her shoulders decreased slightly, but Spock's countenance remained unchanged. "I judged that your medical condition may have rendered you incapable of response."

Uhura frowned in concentration. With a little coaxing, her brain finally converted Spock into Standard. "You hotwired my door because you were worried about me?"

"Anxiety is an emotion. I used a command override code," Spock corrected, "because logic suggested you might need assistance. The command crew notoriously hides ailments until they become overwhelmed by them."

"I do not!" Uhura protested, sitting up. "I went straight to Sickbay. I even took my medicine."

"Which suggests that your symptoms are far more debilitating than what you normally experience."

"Come on, Spock, we're not all like Captain Kirk. This is just a little cold, I prom-" A deep, lung-wrenching coughing fit suddenly interrupted her reassurances. Eyebrows shooting up, Spock waited her out, his hands gently rubbing her back. A full minute later she finally caught her breath and lay down gasping.

"If those symptoms are frequent," Spock hypothesized, "I submit to you that this cold is not of a diminutive nature. Are you able to breathe?"

She nodded, still a bit winded. "Fluke," she wheezed. "Doesn't happen often."

Spock ignored her, and began positioning her pillows for optimum comfort and airway clearance. Clearly Nyota was going to downplay all of her ailments, which would hinder his ability to aid her. He would have to evaluate the situation based on practical information rather than her statements.

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><p><em>Cinnamon rolls to reviewers! (I'm tired of cookies today.) Criticism and other stuff appreciated! Thank you, thank you, thank you!<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: So, apparently, when I say I'll update in a few weeks, I mean more like a month. Sorry guys. The sad part is, this still isn't quite what I want, so I might be changing some things later._

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><p>"How's your shift going?" Uhura asked a little desperately. Spock had her cocooned in every blanket she owned and seemed to be hunting for more. If she didn't distract him, she'd die of heat stroke.<p>

"My shift is following its customary course. What is your condition?" Finished with his prowling, he returned to the bed and cupped the sides of her face. "Are you experiencing a fever? The difference of our skin temperatures makes a precise tactile assessment difficult."

"No fever, Spock. Not even a little one."

Restless, one hand traveled up to her forehead, as if in search of a more faithful reading. "High temperatures in humans can produce false sensations of cold-"

"Trust me, honey. Cold is the last thing I feel right now." She smiled in reassurance, willing her body not to sweat beneath her mound of covers. _Just hold out until he leaves, _she coaxed. _Then we'll get rid of some of these, and be _much _more comfortable._ "I'm very cozy," she said aloud.

The hands left her face and slid down to trace the patterns in the topmost quilt. Uhura noted this with a certain amount of trepidation. Restive hands meant Spock's mind was too busy to keep them in check.

"Perhaps Dr. McCoy will allow me to make use of a medical tricorder," Spock said, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Temperature would then be firmly established."

As would heart rate, respiration rate, blood pressure, and any other data her scientist might desire, possibly including what she ate for breakfast. Maybe solid information would calm him down; apparently her reassurances meant nothing. "Bring one when you come back," she suggested resignedly, "if it makes you feel better."

"My state of wellbeing will not be affected by the presence of scientifically accurate equipment." Spock pulled back, reminding Uhura of an affronted cat. "However, it will provide a more precise assessment of your health then currently-"

"Yes, yes, sorry. Poorly chosen phrase." Shifting, she began to sit up. Spock instantly adjusted pillows, supporting her back and head like she was an infant. "Stop it," she rasped, irritated. "I'm not dying."

"But you are unwell, and it would therefore be wise to conserve your resources," Spock countered. "Please allow me to assist you."

Submitting with ill grace, Uhura muttered mutinously, "Yes, it would be such a pity if I should strain a muscle _sitting up in bed_." Spock continued his fluffing, pretending he hadn't heard. Frowning, she tried to make her point again. "Honestly, Spock, a cold isn't much to worry over. I've had them before."

"Adequate care can reduce the duration of a cold, just as neglect can increase it." Spock perched on the edge of her bed, eyes holding hers. "I wish you to recover in the shortest time possible."

"Me too. That's why I'm resting today. I'm sure with a few decent hours of sleep I'll be as good as new tomorrow." Uhura doubted she'd _get_ a few hours with her coughing, but Spock didn't need to know that. If she played this right, with a little redirection, she might get him to leave. "Are you on a lunch break? You better go get something to eat, okay? I don't want you going hungry because of me."

"Captain Kirk has given me an extended meal period, due to his own lack of appetite."

An extended meal period. Of course. Well, thank you, Captain Kirk. Next time he was sick, Uhura was going to sic McCoy on him so fast he'd never see the hypo coming.

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><p><em>What do I need to fix? Please review!<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I (still) do not own Star Trek_

_A/N: Extra long update! (I'm absurdly pleased with myself.)__If you have any requests for what you'd like to see next, please leave them. Otherwise, I only have enough ideas for another three chapters or so._

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><p>Desperately trying to keep his stomach from growling, Kirk jumped as the comm came through to the bridge.<p>

"Sickbay to Captain Kirk."

He flinched a little as he heard McCoy's tone. The good doctor sounded put out about something… "Kirk here."

"You know why I'm calling, Jim?"

Quickly, he ran over his mental list of Reasons I've Pissed Bones Off. Overdue physical? No. Hidden injury? No. Working while exhausted? No. Hurtling himself into a life-threatening situation? Not lately. "Sorry, can't say that I do."

The speakers fairly crackled with exasperation. "Your meal card hasn't been used today. You wanna explain that?"

"Oh! Spock had some personal business to take care of, so I let him go to lunch early." Sensing an impending indignant squawk, he hastened to cut it off. "I'll eat when he gets back!" he reassured the doctor. "I promise."

"Mm-hmm. And what happened with breakfast?"

Breakfast… breakfast… "Um… I forgot?"

"Jim!" McCoy groaned. "What do I have to do, handfed you?"

"That might work…if you hired an attractive nurse to do it," Kirk mused. "Wouldn't want to put me off my food, after all."

"Or I could get you a shock collar, and zap you a reminder every morning."

Kirk grinned. If Bones was threatening him, he wasn't truly angry. At least, not yet. "I think that breaks your 'do no harm' clause."

"Not if it's a justifiable therapy," the doctor snapped, "and I swear it would be. When's Spock coming back?"

Twiddling his fingers on the console, Kirk waffled a bit. "Well, I'm not sure. I left it pretty open."

"Uh-huh." Down in sickbay, McCoy had a sudden, suspicious little inkling of an idea. "Does that hobgoblin's personal business happen to involve a certain communications officer?"

A'dyr hadn't said if Uhura could have visitors. Spock was probably with Uhura regardless. Thinking fast, Kirk decided it might be safer for Spock if he evaded the question. "Spock never said what he was doing. Could be anywhere."

The reply was sharp and immediate. "In other words, yes, he's run off to see Uhura."

So much for that approach. Kirk switched to pleading. "Bones, let him spend some time with her. This morning, he-"

"I already said he could visit her," McCoy interrupted before Jim got sappy about star-crossed lovers. "That's not an issue. However, I didn't know he was stealing your break to do it." Unconsciously, McCoy's fingers caressed a hypospray. "And Spock probably hasn't eaten either," he muttered darkly. "Bet he went straight to her quarters."

"Bones, it's fine. Everyone will eat eventually."

"It is not fine! You're starving on the bridge, Spock's fasting for no good reason, and Uhura's not getting any rest at all. Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a nanny. Don't you people know how to take care of yourselves?"

"I'm not _skipping_ lunch, I'm just delaying it," Kirk argued. "He's only been gone an hour and a half."

Delaying lunch did not fit into the doctor's game plan, especially since Kirk lost so much weight during their last mission. A month had passed, and McCoy still hadn't brought it back up. "The _second _that pointy-eared computer gets back on the bridge, you _will_ go down to the mess, do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Bones."

"Don't make me come up there and get you, because I will."

Kirk rolled his eyes and reached for the cut-off switch. "I do have actual work to do. Kirk out."

0o0o0

The abrupt disconnect left McCoy with half a dozen demands and threats unsaid, and a slightly more exasperated outlook on life. However, he had another card to play before he lost this round.

He reached for his comm. unit again. "Sickbay to Uhura."

The croak he received back sounded pathetically miserable. "Here."

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay. Don't need a house-call yet."

Short, incomplete sentences from a communications officer, the physician in him noted. Fatigue and/or a very sore throat. "Any sign of a fever?"

"No." The faintest hint of irritation colored her voice, and McCoy made more deductions. Someone had already asked her that question. Someone's request for symptom information had already driven her up the wall. A certain Vulcan was perhaps being _too_ attentive right now.

Well, he couldn't to cure the common cold, but he could fix that.

"Alright. As long as you stay warm and drink a lot of fluids, you'll be fine. Is Spock still lollygagging with you?"

There was a brief shuffling sound as Uhura handed him over. "I am with the lieutenant, Doctor, but neither of us are currently choking on any object," Spock replied primly.

"You know exactly what I mean, hobgoblin. Have you eaten?"

"I have been occupied with other matters."

Yes, of course you have, thought McCoy. Delicately, he set out his lure. "Are you aware the captain hasn't eaten breakfast or lunch? He's gone 17 hours without food now."

There was a brief pause. "No, I was not aware. He assured me that he was not hungry." Bait taken. McCoy could just imagine the flash of guilt Spock's eye, followed by an irritated eyebrow twitch at Kirk's deception.

"Yeah, well, either he was lying or his stomach's given up all hope of a decent meal and quit complaining," the doctor retorted. "Get down to the mess. The sooner you shove something in your mouth, the sooner Jim gets something in his."

It sounded like Spock tried to respond, but the shuffling noise cut him off, and Uhura came back on, her relief plain. "I'll see that he does. Thank you."

"My pleasure, ma'am. You take care of yourself." McCoy smiled. "Sickbay out."

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><p><em>Reviews make me happy! No, really, they make my day so much it's pathetic.<em>


	7. Chapter 7

_For the record, it's completely Spock's fault that I didn't post sooner. I was trying to get him out of the room -five rewrites later, he_ still_hasn't left! Unbetaed, so please point out any errors you catch. (I know they're there.) And I still don't own Star Trek._

_A/N 2: Apologies for reposting. There are minor edits, and a few people said Chap 7 didn't show up for them. New chap on Friday -promise!_

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><p>As soon as Uhura had clicked the comm unit off, a bout of rapid sneezes sent her careening directly into Spock's collarbone. "Ow," she complained, rubbing her forehead. "Sorry."<p>

Spock handed her a tissue. "You have committed no offense."

As she busied herself blowing her nose, Spock reviewed his data. Jim: lack of self-preservation skills, possible malnutrition. Nyota: congested sinuses, headache, cough, exhaustion. Professional duty required him to see to Jim. First and foremost, the first officer oversees his captain's safety. But personal duty required that he care for Nyota…

Balling the tissue, Uhura aimed for her waste receptacle, but the projectile fell a foot short. Spock considered adding impaired depth perception to his list of symptoms, but tissues were not known for their in-flight reliability.

"At least I'll have plenty of opportunities to practice," the woman sighed, eyeing the little ball with distaste.

"Indeed," Spock agreed. Stooping, he scooped up the wad and disposed of it, making a note to sanitize his hands at the first available opportunity.

Uhura smiled at him. "Thanks. You should go. Kirk needs you. I'll be fi-" Uhura's body chose that precise moment to double over with another coughing fit. While half her brain screamed "_Air!_", the other half cursed the unfortunate timing. Reeling on the bed gasping for breath would not convince Spock he could safely leave her alone.

Bent over, she couldn't see what his face looked like, but his hands stroked her back, playing counterpoint to her violent wheezing. And his voice… the fuzz of her oxygen-starved brain only caught "relax," but that was probably the important part.

She graduated from barking coughs to shuddering pants, and then finally (finally!) calmed enough to sit up again. "Okay," she murmured, wiping tears from her eyes. "Glad that's over."

Spock continued to rub her back. "Nyota-"

Quickly, she cut him off. "Don't worry," she babbled, "It's alright, this is normal." Spock's eyebrow twitched, so she prattled on in self-defense. "You can go. I'll be fine. Humans get colds all the time- we're miserable, but we live. Well, sometimes not the really old ones, but that doesn't apply-"

"Nyota," Spock interrupted. "I have already concluded that I must depart."

Uhura blinked. "Oh. I mean, yes, you should. It's past time for lunch"

He nodded and stood, straightening the blankets. "You will take a cough suppressant before I leave." It was not a suggestion.

Normally, she avoided McCoy's medicine like radioactive sludge –the label might _say_ cherry, but no fruit in the galaxy resembled that flavor. If this was what it took to metaphorically shove Spock out the door though, she'd swallow with enthusiasm.

After standing over her while she took the dose and forcing a full glass of water on her, Spock remembered another important aspect of caring for his human. "Do you require sustenance?"

"No, don't bother. I don't need anything."

He did not fully comprehend all the nuances of human behavior, but he did know most of their biological needs. Two to three meals a day were usually quite necessary. "Have you consumed anything today?"

She grimaced in concentration. "I… um. No?" That was definitely the wrong answer, judging by the microscopic jerk of Spock's eyebrows. "Oh, wait! I think I had some toast."

"Toast," Spock responded flatly. "And you are uncertain of this. Nyota, your immune system will not function properly unless it has nutrients to run on. Your diet sounds less than optimal."

"I'm not hungry," she grumbled.

Ill humans should be subjected to minimum stress. He decided to forgo the argument, and bring her provisions upon his return.

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><p><em>Reviews make my day! :D [is hopeful]<em>


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: These are not my characters._

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><p>"Go on, Spock." Shifting further against her blankets, Uhura sniffed. "Get some food. I'll live."<p>

"Undoubtedly." Spock still made no move toward the door.

"It's okay. You've seen this before, right? Didn't your mother ever get sick?"

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she winced. Spock was healing, slowly, but his mother was still not a candidate for casual conversation. Uhura tried to support him without words, because that was what he wanted. She avoided the topic of parents, even her own. When a few cups of hot chocolate convinced him to talk, she listened (1), and she _never_ brought up the subject herself. At least, she never brought it up when she was thinking straight.

Anxiously she watched his face. Spock gave no signs of distress, but that didn't provide much comfort. His "neutral mask" hid a wide variety of reactions, everything from pleased to homicidal. "Sorry," she said quietly.

After the destruction of his planet and their return to Earth, Spock underwent a psych evaluation. The human counselor expressed concern over his cool, clinical descriptions of his mother's death, but cleared him for duty after protests from the Vulcan ambassador. Unlike a human mind, the recollections of a Vulcan were crisp and clear. In the weeks after the disaster, even happy memories became agonizing to touch. Many times sorrow chased Spock away from meditating, and nightmares disturbed his sleep. Inexplicably, on those nights, Sarek appeared at his door. As in Spock's childhood, Sarek arranged and lit the candles, spread a cushioned mat, and quietly led his son through steps of meditation. The familial ritual soothed them, and in time, memories of Amanda brought comfort along with pain.

Amanda had contracted a cold once, on a trip home to Earth. Spock was quite young at the time, and remembered questioning why she didn't go into a healing trance.

"Humans do not posses our powers of the mind," his father answered, tucking blankets around his mother. "This makes them much more fragile and vulnerable to disease." Amanda stuck her tongue out at Sarek, an ancient human gesture meaning disgust or disrespect. Sarek raised a brow. "There is nothing in that statement that warrants objection, my wife."

"I don't care," she croaked. "It is completely unfair that you could get rid of this in a couple of hours, and I'll probably have it for at least a week-" When his mother was irritated she was a force to be reckoned with, but Spock edged closer to the bed. Her eyes were red and her nose swollen… the human body's reaction to the virus was _fascinating_.

"Were I capable of placing you in a healing trance or contesting the disease on your behalf, I would do so immediately," Sarek interrupted. "However, those options are not available. Drink your tea, and Spock and I shall leave you to rest."

"I've been in bed all day," she complained. "If I don't get up, I'm going to go crazy."

Taking the last crucial steps, Spock reached the bed. Raising up on his toes, he could comfortably reach her hand. "Mother," he replied earnestly, "the odds of developing insanity from 24 hours of bed rest are-"

Amanda put her head back on the pillow in resignation. "I know, Spock. I was exaggerating."

"The child merely wishes to reassure you, my wife," Sarek responded. "Despite your feelings, the benefits of continued rest far outweigh the risks. Sleep."

"I shall bring you unappealing journal articles, Mother." Spock piped up. "Those often promote fatigue for you, do they not?"

Amanda sighed. "Thank you, dear."

They sent Spock to see his aunt and cousins soon after that, so he was unable to observe all of Amanda's treatment. However, some of his father's therapies might be applicable to Nyota. Spock blinked. Why he hadn't considered this earlier? "There is no need to apologize," he assured Uhura. "You are quite correct. My mother was unwell on several occasions." He turned to the door. "Please rest. I will return shortly."

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><p>(1) According to fanon, hot chocolate affects Vulcans similar to the way alcohol affects humans.<p>

_A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review! I have cookies and hugs for you all. :)_ _Also, if you like interaction between Amanda, Sarek, and Spock, NotesfromaClassroom has an incredible fic called _My Mother the Ambassador_. I highly recommend it! (Seriously. If this fic was candy, hers would be a four course meal. Check it out!)_


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I do not profit from this work, and (sigh) these people aren't mine._

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><p>In the mess hall, Spock chose a meal he could consume quickly, and scanned the room for an empty table. Any sort of conversation would delay his return to the bridge by 16 minutes with a margin of error of six, depending on the crewmember. At this time of day, however, every eating surface seemed occupied. Before he could find something reasonably private, Chekov waved him down. "Mr. Spock! Here, there is room!"<p>

The navigator and Sulu had a cozy table for four in the corner. Spock considered refusing the invitation, but Chekov looked so delighted by the idea that he acquiesced. Choosing a seat next to Sulu, he calculated a high probability that the captain would not mind waiting another 10.3 minutes. "My meal period will be short," he warned them. "I am needed on the bridge."

"Of course, Kommander," Chekov responded, grinning. "But you should not eat alone. And Hikaru does not understand this article on theoretical communication signals."

"Not while we're eating," Sulu groaned. "I came here for a break, not to work." When Chekov opened his mouth to protest, Sulu pointedly turned to Spock. "How's Uhura?" he asked politely.

Spock quickly began portioning his salad into bite size chunks. "Unwell," he replied. "Dr. McCoy's medications do not provide the appropriate amount of relief."

Sulu frowned. "What exactly does she have?"

"It appears to be the common cold." Spock speared several lettuce leaves with military precision. "She exhibits signs of nasal congestion and a sinus headache."

At that Chekov perked up like an excited puppy. "Sinus? I know what to do! In reflexology the big toe represents the sinuses –rub the big toe and the sinuses drain! Reflexology was inwented in Russia," he added proudly (1).

"Reflexology is Chinese, and that doesn't work," Sulu objected. "I tried that with my last cold."

"Zhey stole it from us," Chekov sniffed. "And you are doing it wrong. Also, you are uncultured; for a real Russian, it works every time."

Sulu rolled his eyes. "Try hot tea with lemon and honey, Commander; that actually has a chance. Or a warm bath. That helps."

"Just because you are unsuccessful-"

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock spotted a mountain of food with legs approaching them. "This seat taken?" Without waiting for an answer, Scotty sat down, his loaded tray landing with a formidable _thump_ on the table. "Now, are you arguing about something interesting, or should I just eat?"

Pausing in his salad consumption, Spock explained. "Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov are debating the merits of various folk treatments for colds."

"Aye? My granny Scott had a famous cure for colds. You take a bit of whiskey-"

"Hangowers are not good for colds," Chekov protested. "Uhura already has a headache."

"Headache? Uhura's sick?" Scotty seemed surprised. Although somewhat cut off from the rest of the ship, Engineering usually heard most of the gossip.

Spock stabbed more lettuce. "Affirmative. She is confined to quarters."

Scotty made a mental note to improve his sources in Sickbay. "Poor lassie. Granny Scott's hot toddy is just what she needs."

Normally when it came to conversations, Spock understood Scotty perfectly, probably because Scotty mostly spoke about engines. However, Spock found himself struggling to identify a 'toddy.' The name did not sound promising.

Noticing the commander's confusion, Scotty helped him out with a definition. "Hot water, whiskey, honey, and apple vinegar, Mr. Spock. Cures anything."

Sulu smirked. "I'll bet. Tea is probably safer though."

Grinning, Scotty picked up the first of four sandwiches. "Well, now, if it's _safe_ you want…"

Eagerly devouring his dessert, Chekov paused for a moment and tapped his fork against his lips. "We could program the enwironmental controls to let more humidity in the room; that would make it easier to breathe."

To a desert being like Spock, extra humidity did not appeal at all, but his mouth was full, and he didn't comment.

Scotty nodded decisively. "I could do that from engineering. Wouldn't take two minutes."

"And we could add a scent," Chekov added, eyes brightening. "Something soothing."

His botanical fervor aroused, Sulu quickly suggested eucalyptus with a hint of Du'khain moonflower. As their plans grew more detailed, involving elaborate sensors and split second time schedules, Spock swiftly stuffed down his last few bites and rose to go. "Thank you for your help, gentlemen. I shall ask Lieutenant Uhura if any of these remedies interest her."

Acknowledging his departure with brief waves, the men continued their discussion. Spock determined that if he didn't talk with Uhura quickly, her cabin would be made comfortable with or without her permission.

* * *

><p>(1) For anyone unfamiliar with TOS, one of the longest running gags is Chekov's national pride. He frequently claims inventions, sayings, stories andor events come from Russia, regardless of their origins. (See _The Apple, The Trouble with Tribbles ,Friday's Child._)

_A/N: I apologize profusely for taking so long! I had to get my wisdom teeth out which was_ not_ conducive to writing at _all._Also, the big toe thing Chekov mentions supposedly works according to my massage therapist mother, although I've never had any luck with it._

_Please review! It brings sunshine to my otherwise cloudy, rain-filled days._


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Not mine

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><p>At the quiet <em>swish<em> of the turbolift doors, Kirk craned his neck, eager to see who had arrived. Another nondescript red shirt. He sighed. The latest report lay in his lap, but he scrolled through the pages aimlessly, his mind fixated on a large crispy bacon cheeseburger with onion rings… McCoy had probably blocked the option from his meal card. Still, a man could fantasize, couldn't he? Deep-fried, greasy, golden rings… and the cheese had oozed off the burger ever so slightly so that it gently kissed the plate, the thick tomatoes and crunchy lettuce winking out from beneath a lightly toasted bun, the inch thick sirloin burger…

He shook his head, trying to force himself back into some semblance of concentration. He would _not_ call Spock. The poor guy asked for so little, and did so much –Spock deserved a break. And if that break happened to take another two hours, well, Kirk would just sit here and read some more reports.

_Swish._ In a dignified, captainly manner, Kirk nearly gave himself whiplash to get a view of the doors. Blue shirt, black hair, stony expression– in strode his missing first officer.

His stomach gave a rumble of relief. "Welcome back, Mr. Spock. How'd it go?"

Impassive as always, the Vulcan quickly crossed the floor to stand by Kirk's chair. "My rest period was appropriately satisfactory, Captain." Leaning in, he spoke in an undertone. "However, had I known your dire need for sustenance, I would have waited for my appointed time."

Kirk fought the urge to squirm in his seat like a guilty child. He'd bet two months pay McCoy had a hand in this. "It's not dire," he objected. "I'm fine."

"Dr. McCoy has contacted me." Kirk saw steel in Spock's eyes, and the captain knew he was busted. "You should not have put your health at risk to favor me. The length of time you have gone without nourishment is unacceptable for a Starfleet officer under non-emergency circumstances."

"I am fine," he insisted feebly. "I was happy to give you the time." Kirk's stomach chose that inopportune moment to growl. Loudly.

Spock's eyebrows approached the ceiling. "Thank you, captain. I must now insist that you take the time to refresh and nourish yourself."

Sliding out the chair, Kirk decided to stop explaining and beat a hasty retreat. "On my way, commander."

o0o0o

Spock sank into the still-warm chair. The captain's disregard for himself, while morally praiseworthy, created no end of problems for his first officer. Spock would have to impress a sense of self-caring into Jim, or someday the captain would overtax his resources.

Placing those thoughts aside, Spock quickly glanced around the bridge. All systems normal, all personnel engaged or lethargically minding their consoles. A brief call to Nyota would not be out of order. Besides, if he did not inform her of Mr. Scott's plans, they all faced dire consequences.

His fingers danced over the in-chair comm. "Spock to Uhura."

A faint, low voice crawled out of the speaker. "…yes?"

In his mind, Spock constructed a logical image based on Nyota's sound. Her pillow muffled her voice because she'd crammed her head in it, one arm apathetically stretched to hit the comm button, and the rest of her body lay thoroughly tangled in a deep nest of blankets.

Pity was an emotion.

He declined to ask after Nyota's health; he was already aware of her probable answer. A short conversation would serve them both better. "I have reached the bridge. Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov, and Mr. Scott were all concerned about your condition."

"That's sweet of them. Did you tell them it's just a cold?"

Spock steepled his fingers, a time-honored position for deep, clear thinking. This required delicate phrasing. "They are aware of your status. They also had several suggestions for improving your comfort. Mr. Scott wishes to make changes to your environmental controls."

"Oh. Ok." She sounded less than enthusiastic. "Have him call and talk to me about them."

He remained silent.

"…Scotty's on his way to make the changes right now, isn't he?"

"Yes, there is a high probability that is the case." Closing his eyes (_not_ out of anxiety; deprivation of sight often sharpened hearing), he waited for her reaction.

She sighed. "The boys can do whatever they want. Just as long as there's no noise."

Spock's eyes opened. "Understood," he replied softly. "Is your head paining you?"

Her answer creaked out in the affirmative. "It's my sinuses," she added. "Hypos aren't helping."

"According to Mr. Chekov, massaging the big toe can relieve sinus pressure. The concept does not seem sound, however, if you have already tried traditional medicine-"

"I never say no to a footrub, Mr. Spock." Now he heard a smile in her voice. "We should try it. Besides, think how happy Pavel will be if it works."

"I believe you may derive some enjoyment from the experiment as well." At her slight display of cheer, he experienced… an increase of positivity. He decided this was logical. Negative emotions decreased the body's immune response. The happier Nyota was, the less strain on her immune system, the sooner she would recover, and the sooner the ship would return to normal functioning.

Uhura laughed. "Well, it'll be a sacrifice for me… but it's for science."

"Your attitude is quite praiseworthy." Their conversation had continued for four minutes now; he determined that was long enough. Nyota needed her rest, and Kirk had no doubt left him a few reports to finish. "I must tend to the bridge. I shall see you when my shift has ended."

"I'm holding you to that footrub, Spock. Uhura out."

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><p>Thank you for the reviews! I love them more than sunshine and fuzzy animals! I apologize for the delay in updates; I've been in finals, and I'm going on a trip to Europe in less than two weeks. (PM me if you have any travel suggestions!) So, um, the next update might be some time from now -just a warning. :)<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: I'm back! Apologize for my long absence. I came back from the trip, and I'm in the process of job hunting now, which is not fun. Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed or is following this story- it's exciting to know that people like it! _

_Disclaimer: I merely play with the genius ideas of others._

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><p>After her chat with Spock, Uhura lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Any more sleep, and she'd merge with the mattress. She should get up and change into clean pajamas if nothing else, even though her body felt like a slab of concrete. Twisting her head (which took more effort than she liked to admit), she looked at the clock. 13:30.<p>

Okay. Now she _had_ to get up. Lying in bed past noon for a dinky little cold was absolutely pathetic. Closing her eyes, she tried to use visualization techniques to motivate herself. First she would put her left leg over the edge of the bed. Then her right one. Then she'd push up on her elbows, slowly swing her torso up into a sitting position, and stand. Piece of cake. But… maybe she'd think about it for awhile. Just to make sure she really had the strategy down.

By 13:34, Uhura fell asleep again.

0o0o0

Chekov bit his lip as their program began. "Maybe we should have asked her before we engaged this."

Unconcerned, Scotty pushed at his console. "The lassie's probably sleeping. Waking her up to ask her anything is a wee bit dodgy."

"Besides, this will help her feel better," Sulu pointed out. "Why would she say no?"

The screens cast an eerie blue glow over the faces of both men as they addressed last minute details. Despite the reassurances, Chekov couldn't help but feel they'd violated an ethical code somewhere. Still, Sulu and Scotty outranked and out-aged him; surely they had experience in this type of thing.

0o0o0

Several hours later, Uhura woke up feeling awake, if not better. _Rookie mistake_, she chided herself. _Never close your eyes. Now let's try to get up for real this time._ Stretching slowly, she pushed the blankets off. The room felt warmer, which perturbed her a bit. If she developed a fever, Spock's mother-hening would soar to unprecedented heights, landing on the cliffs of insanity. She absolutely refused to get worse.

In addition to the warmth, she noticed a …heaviness in the air. Nothing unpleasant, just noticeable. It seemed to be clearing her nose a bit too. It took another few steps before she remembered: Scotty's environmental improvements had come to pass. Smiling, she shook her head and took a few more deep breaths. She would have to call and thank-

A high-pitched _hissssssss_ suddenly surrounded her, piercing and intense in its volume. The headache, which had dulled after her nap, came back with a vengeance. No. Please, no. Slowly making her way to her closet, she willed the noise to be a brief system quirk. One set of clean pjs, one glass of water, and one hypo later, the gasping shriek still hadn't died off. Fuming, she made her way to the comm unit. _No noise. That's all I wanted. No. Noise._

"Uhura to Scotty," she demanded.

A faintly accented burr responded immediately. "Scott here. How are you?"

"Fine, but if you don't make this hissing noise go away, so help me-"

"Hissing? There shouldna be any hissing."

"Good. I'm glad you didn't plan it this way. Make it stop."

"Do you smell anything?" The engineer sounded concerned, which, in Uhura's mind, was quite the proper response. He had disturbed her rest. Now he would face her wrath.

She took as deep a breath as her nose would allow. "No. Maybe plants," she said. "I have a cold, remember? I can't smell anything."

Down in engineering, Scotty rapidly calculated the possible sources of her problem. Most were rather alarming. "Then you need to get out of the room. It could be a leak." And if it _was_ a leak, who knew what kind of gasses had already been released- Scotty grabbed a kit and began throwing tools in. "Jefferson! Get respirators. I need you and Gnash!"

"A leak? Are you sure it's not because _you_ _messed with my room controls?_"

"Evacuate that room now, Lieutenant! I'm coming with a team to make sure it's nothing serious."

"Don't the quarters have sensors to-"

"Nothing's perfect!" he barked. "Get out of there, and that's an order!" Och. He'd probably earned himself the cold shoulder for weeks with this incident, but at least she would be alive to give it to him.

0o0o0

On the bridge, Spock had just proofread the last of Kirk's reports and added the last of his comments. Kirk's direct style of writing served him well, but certain officials in Starfleet Command required more subtlety. Some of their superiors felt more comfortable reading "after some discussion, the natives' nonconstructive attitudes diminished" than "the natives cooperated after I pulled my phaser." The wording didn't change the outcome at all, but-

"Uhura to Spock."

Spock seized the comm. The odds were approximately 50.45 to one that Uhura would call him during his shift with a non-critical need. "Here," he replied urgently. "Are you in difficulty?"

"I'm fine. I need to borrow your room."

Relaxing slightly, he steepled his fingers, considering the implications of this request. "What has happened to your quarters?"

"Scotty happened to them," Uhura growled.

"As a human being, Mr. Scott can initiate a wide variety of events. I shall need you to be more precise in your description."

"There's a high-pitch hissing in my quarters, and it wasn't there before Scotty made his improvements. Now they have to fix it."

Spock felt a moment's concern as he considered all possible sources of hissing -many of them quite toxic. "Have you been seen by the medical staff? Did you inhale any peculiar sce-?"

She quickly interrupted. "It's fine. They can't trace anything poisonous. Scotty's just being paranoid, so I'm stuck holding my blanket in the corridor. Either I stay in your room, or I'm in quarantine in sickbay. I may kill them all," she said dully.

"Please do not commit homicide. You are of course welcome in my quarters. If you will wait five minutes, I shall make the necessary climate adjustments."

"Don't worry about it. The heat will feel good. I'm kinda cold…" she trailed off, aware that she might have reawakened Spock's anxiety.

"I do not wish you to be uncomfortable. Five minutes, Nyota. Spock out."

Shifting to face the vidscreen, Spock addressed his navigator and science stand-in. "Ensign Chekov, modify my quarters to Earth atmosphere conditions, humidity" –he paused and heroically continued— "fifty percent. Also, allow access for Lieutenant Uhura."

"Ay, sir." Chekov's fingers flew over his console, but the young man bit his lip. "Are, uh… her quarters alright, sir?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "No, Ensign." Chekov's eyes widened. An indication of fear, Spock noted. He moved to rectify it. "However, she appears to place all blame on Mr. Scott."

Both Chekov and Sulu slumped in their seats.

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><p><em>Please remember to review. I enjoy hearing what people think! Really, really, really enjoy. Seriously. <em>


	12. Chapter 12

_I have not given up, I promise! It will be finished someday. ...But today is not the day._

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><p>Uhura wore her blanket as a cape, ignoring the stares of other crew members. She would care about her personal dignity later, after she found a new dark, soft hole to curl up in. Coming out from the twilight of her room, the corridor seemed criminally brilliant, stabbing her eyes with sadistic glee.<p>

The turbolift proved no better because the lights there _flashed_, an assault that forced her eyes closed almost immediately. The motion of the lift coupled with her temporary blindness left her woozy. Once the doors opened again, she walked out and laid a hand on the corridor wall, hoping for some stability.

A few feet from the lift, she paused. One of her communication ensigns approached with a big friendly smile on his face. The grin faltered a bit as he got closer. "Are you alright, lieutenant?"

Uhura tried to straighten her shoulders and look more like his superior, less like death warmed over. Judging by Dansley's expression, she didn't succeed very well. "I'm fine," she rasped, wishing she'd brought a waterbottle along with her blanket-cape.

"You don't look very… um, like your usual self." The ensign subtly blocked her path, studying her face. "Have you been to sickbay?" Obviously he thought he may have to call for backup and force her there.

"Yes. I have a cold." Uhura smiled reassuringly. At least, she hoped it was reassuring. "Dr. McCoy let me stay in my quarters, but now they're unsafe. A friend offered me his room."

Although Starfleet didn't forbid relationships between officers, they had unpleasant ways of discouraging them. Spock and Uhura tried to keep their relationship as clandestine as possible.

"Ah." Dansley's mouth quirked. "You know, I'm Rygelian. Human colds don't bother me. Let me help you to Mr. Spock's."

Aside from the still in engineering, her relationship with Spock had to be the worst kept secret on the ship. "Thank you ensign, but I think I can make it."

Eyeing her one last time, Dansley stood aside. "If you're sure…"

Shivering, she clutched her blanket closer. "It's not that far."

And it wasn't. Less than three minutes later, she found herself stealing through Spock's door. As she stepped in, a wave of warmth washed over her, along with the scent of incense. The spices from countless hours of meditation and ritual permeated the room—Vulcan style aromatherapy.

In addition to its soothing scent, Vulcan style aromatherapy cleared her nose. A violent sneeze broke loose, sending a virtual slime pool of mucus down her face. While her inner five year old shrieked _Ewww! _at the top of its lungs, Uhura hastily scanned the room. Tissues. Where was the logical place for tissues?

In her own room, Kleenex was right on the nightstand, next to her clock. Spock had no nightstand. His desk was clear, except for a few neatly stacked data pads. Shelves behind the desk held a three-D chess set, the model of a complex molecule, and, oddly enough, a decorative statue with bulbous eyes and large teeth. She sneezed again. Using her sleeve was an attractive option, but if Spock planned on any sort of cuddling, she'd prefer not to leave snot trails.

_The head_, she decided. _Tissues are always in the head _(1)_._ Approaching that door with caution, she gave a series of loud knocks. Spock shared facilities with Kirk; apparently those who designed the _Enterprise_ thought the captain and the first officer could bond while brushing their teeth in the morning. The downside? Every time a visitor had to go pee, she risked not only walking in on someone, but walking in on her captain_._ Should Uhura do so, Kirk would never let her hear the end of it. Her door-banging ritual was perhaps a _tiiiny_ bit paranoid, but it saved her from awkward incidents.

Inside, bare counters gleamed, without so much as a toothbrush in plain sight. Sighing, Uhura dropped to her knees and began tugging open drawers. Beard suppressors, pocket combs, big combs, breath fresheners, floss, hair product (Kirk's, she assumed; Spock merely raised an eyebrow and his hair fearfully fell into place), shampoo, epipens, vitamins, bandages, one small razor blade, tweezers, cotton balls, moisturizer, nail clippers, cleaning supplies, and a neat row of multicolored sponges. Apparently Kleenex was illogical.

Huffing, she grabbed a handful of cotton balls (any port in a storm), and mopped up. The process took a considerable amount of time, as little bits of cotton decided to secede from the mother ball and stick to her face. Tired and irked, she finally found herself lying on the floor, slime-free, cotton-free, and pathetically worn out.

It was then that she noticed the big, soft towels hanging on the wall.

Big soft towels that one could use for purposes other than drying one's hands.

Like, say, blowing one's nose.

Letting her head fall back against the bathroom rug, Uhura began to laugh.

0o0o0

Kirk came back to the bridge to find his crew in the midst of a tense debate. "It vas the chicken. Obwiously," Chekov declared. "Vithout the chicken, there is no egg."

Sulu spun his chair to face the ensign. "How will the egg get fertilized? You need a rooster and a chicken. And where did the rooster and the chicken come from? Eggs," he said firmly. "It's the egg."

Settled in the captain's chair, Spock leaned forward. "Egg-laying species pre-date chickens. Now, perhaps we could return to the star charts?"

The excitable Orion at the security console ignored his suggestion. "An egg needs to stay warm to hatch, right? So there must be a sentient heat source."

"Yes!" Chekov grinned. "There had to be a parent chicken to vatch the egg!"

Sulu closed his eyes and shook his head. "Chekov, where'd your parent chicken come from?"

"Russia," the boy deadpanned.

Enough was enough. Swallowing his smile, Kirk authoritatively strode to his chair. Spock stood quickly, shooting Kirk a thank-space-you-came-back-the-crew-is-insane look. Nodding, Kirk took his seat and observed his suddenly silent officers. "Well. I see you've been productive in my absence. What brought on this conversation?"

Chekov licked his lips nervously. "Um… chicken soup, sir. Someone suggested Mr. Spock bring some to Uhura and-"

Kirk cut him off. "I see." A stern expression on his face, he turned to the cartographer. "Lieutenant Toblov, are you on task?"

The woman hardly glanced up from her screen. "Yes sir."

"Lieutenant Sulu, is the ship on autopilot?"

Sulu cleared his throat. "Yes, captain."

"Commander Spock, do you have anything to report?"

"No, captain."

"Alright then." Kirk steepled his hands. "Ladies and gentlemen…" He paused, letting his solemn glare hit as many of them as he could. "…it was totally the chicken."

Judging by the racket his statement caused, the last two hours of his shift would be fairly entertaining.

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><p><strong>(1)<strong> The head as in the bathroom, toilet, or loo, not the body part.

_**A/N:** As always, please review! The encouragement really helps. _

_**A/N 2 (the extremely long one you can skip):** In case anyone was wondering why I took so long, I was hung up by (1) life and (2) environmental stewardship regarding the bathrooms in space. Of all the things I've researched in my life, "use of toilet paper on the Enterprise" was definitely the strangest. (Thank you, Memory Alpha, for having an article on toilets.) Eventually I concluded that technology has, um, developed to the point that toilet paper isn't necessary. This led me to a different problem though. If technology has evolved beyond toilet paper, then why does Uhura have Kleenex? Why not a handkerchief? Or a sonic face cleaner? After much time, and far too much thought I've decided to plead creative license. Uhura has tissues because she likes them, and that, dear readers, is my lame justification._


	13. Chapter 13

_My dearest, kindest, most wonderful readers, forgive me. The past few months… oy. I fell in love, I found a job working nightshift, and between the two I've had very little time for writing. And…now I'm engaged and have a wedding to plan. Thank you thank you thank you for your patience. I plan to finish this up soon! (And by soon I think we both know I mean sometime before I die.)_

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for Kirk, his crew only debated chicken v. egg for an hour, leaving him with fifty-nine minutes to kill. If only it were dignified for the captain to swivel his chair back and forth.<p>

In lieu of swinging his chair, Kirk settled down to watch his crew. Sulu and Chekov chatted quietly, each taking occasional glances at their instruments. A'dyr and the communications team tapped industriously at their screens; the crew always wrote more messages home during a cartography assignment. Get bored enough, and even sending a comm to Great-Aunt Edna sounds like fun. The security guard slumped at his station. In deep space, security didn't have many threats to fight against, other than killer dust bunnies. He should find some way to occupy them. A new training program might be useful. Chekov and Scotty could hide some kind of token, guarded by… simulated dragons or something. With scantily clad Orions to serve as distractions. That might work.

He turned to Spock to get his opinion on the matter, but stopped. Seated as they were, Kirk spent a lot of time looking at Spock's back. The Vulcan's face might be expressionless, but some of his not-emotions bled into his body language. Now, although Spock flicked through his screens as efficiently as ever, he had his shoulders set in the I-am-slightly-distressed-and/or-uneasy formation.

Kirk, though great strength of will, did not smirk. It didn't take a degree in interpersonal relations to know who Spock was concerned about. Now… what to do about it?

0o0o0

Spock's replacement turned up on the bridge half an hour early, claiming she was bored. From the sly smile on Kirk's face, Spock felt reasonably certain that the captain instigated her "boredom." The first officer protested briefly about regulations and overworking, but Kirk brushed him off.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Mr. Spock," he said glibly.

The corners of Spock's eyes tightened. "Captain, there are not any horses on this vessel. Furthermore, the gift of such an animal-"

Kirk held up his hands. "I know, I know. Just go, alright?"

Spock rapidly considered the advantages of leaving the bridge now, and turned to the woman behind him. "Are you certain you wish to do this?"

"I don't mind at all, Commander," Ensign Braines chirped brightly.

With that, Spock decided it was best to give in.

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><p><em>Short, but I have more for next week. ;) I love reviews!<em>


	14. Chapter 14

_Alright, I've learned my lesson. I will no longer give you time estimates, because I never meet them. I apologize, and I hope it's worth the wait!_

* * *

><p>When he discovered his sleeping section empty and the bed unslept on, Spock felt a moment's concern. He quickly rationalized it away. Had Nyota collapsed in the corridor on her way to Spock's room, a crew member would have found and aided her by now. Therefore, she was somewhere in his quarters.<p>

Assuming Nyota wasn't in the closet, there was only one other area large enough to hide her. He knocked on the bathroom door. "Nyota?" No response. He waited a few seconds, then knocked again. "Nyota, are you alright?"

Her faint, sleepy voice slowly drifted under the door. "Mm-hmm."

To Spock's ear, she did not sound entirely coherent. "May I enter?"

"Uh-huh."

Several more minutes went by without noise or movement from behind the door. Spock leaned in closer, as if that would somehow help her understand him. "You must disengage the privacy lock, Nyota."

"Oh. Sorry." After a brief click, the door _whoosh_ed back. Spock found her curled up on his bathmat, blinking up at him. He could only think of a single question to ask. "Why are you on the floor?"

"I was trying to think of good reasons to get up." She smiled at him blearily, blanket round her shoulders. "I fell asleep before I could think of any."

Occasionally he wondered how humans survived as a species. Kneeling, Spock silently scooped her into his arms.

Uhura frowned, but still wrapped her arms around his neck. "I was just fine there. That was a very cushy mat."

Turning, Spock carefully made his way back to the main room. "It is illogical to sleep on the floor when there is a more comfortable surface available."

Snuggling closer, she kissed his cheek. "Well, sometimes that's just the way these things work out."

She remained attached to his neck with octopus-like determination, even after he set her on the bed. Spock found he had no choice but to lie down with her. Humans found comfort from physical contact; "cuddling," to use the colloquial term, would aid Nyota's recovery. Slowly he stroked Nyota's hair, knowing most humans found stimulation of the scalp relaxing. The silky softness of the strands as they slid through his fingers had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Her body felt too-warm next to his, like a Vulcan with a low-grade fever. Thanks to daily childhood embraces from his mother, however, Spock was quite familiar with the sensation of human touch. Although he found the telepathic feedback disquieting at times, the heat of humans gave him …a heightened sense of well-being.

But while he felt warmth with her touch, Nyota felt coolness with his. He allowed himself to lay there for a few more minutes, and then gently pulled away. In her current condition, cold should be avoided.

Uhura made a muted protest and tugged at his arm. "No. This is nice. Don't move."

He considered obeying her request, but only briefly. "If I continue to hold you without a barrier, you will chill." Rising, he grabbed a dark blanket from the foot of the bed and carefully tucked it under her chin.

She raised an eyebrow, but nestled further into the covers. Her shoulder movements suggested she found the added warmth comfortable. He searched her face, looking for other indications of unmet needs. Perhaps liquids…

"Alright, I'm warm enough," Uhura declared. "Are you coming back over here?"

"That is dependent on your other physical requirements. Are you hungry?"

"I just want to spend some time with you, sweetie. That's all I need right now."

Spock hesitated, resting his hand Nyota's shoulder. "I understand, but it is imperative that you stay hydrated. I will return with tea, and remain as long as you desire. Is that acceptable?"

Uhura sighed, but gave her consent. "Hurry back." With a soft squeeze to her shoulder, Spock left the room.

Curling up on the bed, Uhura inhaled the particular blend of spices and Spock-iness embedded in the fabric. She'd always seen herself as a capable woman, fiercely independent, and yet… _One little cold,_ she thought, _and next thing you know, you allow him to coddle you like a newborn baby_.

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><p><em>Reviews are truly, deeply appreciated. I love them like chocolate.<em>


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